Yeah, I worked the silk road. It’s true what they say: never be in debt to an ogre. I’ve seen men left to die on freezing mountainsides because their legs...well, they weren’t just broken. It’s not just the money. Ogres really bloody hate debt, any debt. Once offered an ogre on my caravan a sip from my hip flask, and he insisted on giving me a coin for it - this was a guy I was pals with. Still, they’re good blokes, most of them, once you get to know them and you don’t owe them anything. Never laughed so hard as round an ogre campfire.
Another time, the big man - khan, they call ’em - who was protecting our convoy, he was getting trouble from a rival, this other tribe trying to muscle in on his turf. The way they told it, our guy traded him a crate of firewood, and hid a sack of gemstones inside. The other khan was so ashamed at having accidentally taken this debt, he threw himself off a cliff. You think I’m making it up, but you’ve never met a mountain ogre. Wonderful, crazy bastards they are.